Marrying Beckett was supposed to be my happy ending. Instead, it was the beginning of a quiet, slow-burning misery. But every time the word "divorce" formed on the tip of my tongue, a text from my future self would stop me. [Keira, just hold on. Beckett loves you. He really does. In the end, you two will find your way back to each other.] And I believed her. For two long years. Until tonight. I went to pick Beckett up from an exclusive VIP lounge downtown. The heavy mahogany door wasn't fully closed. "Hey, Beck, I heard Serena is flying back from London next week," one of his friends drawled, followed by a chorus of low whistles. "Yeah, man, Serena made it pretty clear she’s coming back for you. You two were the golden couple of the Greenwich country club back in the day. Don't tell me you don't regret settling for Keira?" My hand froze on the brass door handle, my chest tightening with a familiar, crushing ache. In my other hand, my phone buzzed, vibrating against my palm. [Keira, don't believe her! The texts I sent you over the last two years—I was forced to send them! Leave Beckett. Get as far away from him as you can!] … Before I could even wrap my head around the text, the door swung open from the inside. It was Brody, one of Beckett's younger tag-alongs. He had driven Beckett home a few times late at night. His face flushed with surprise when he saw me. He turned back toward the room, raising his voice: "Hey, quiet down, guys. Keira’s here to pick up Beckett." The lounge was a hazy mess of half-empty crystal glasses and lingering cigar smoke. The wealthy heirs had dropped their polished, old-money facades, lounging carelessly over leather sofas. Some had brought dates, who looked at me with fleeting pity. Others looked at me with knowing, cynical smirks. "Well, aren't you a lucky man, Beck? No matter how late it gets, your wife always comes running to fetch you." In high school, they had called me the "charity case" or the "scholarship girl" behind my back. Once Beckett married me, they started calling me "Mrs. Cross." But they never respected me. They tolerated me because of Beckett. Their real golden girl, the heart of their circle, was Serena. I had always known this. Beckett sat in the center of the main leather booth. He didn't look drunk; his collar was crisp, his posture upright. But when he looked at me, his eyes were empty of expression. "Hey, don't mind them, Keira," Brody said, stepping in to help. "They've had a few too many drinks." He reached out to steady Beckett. Beckett ignored him. Instead, he extended his hand directly to me. "Sera, help me up." The room fell dead silent for a fraction of a second, followed by a wave of hushed snickers and knowing glances. The looks pierced my back like needles. Brody looked embarrassed: "Beck's had a rough night... Let me call his driver for you." My hand hovered in mid-air, my fingers curling tightly into my palms. Beckett frowned, suddenly grabbing my wrist. His hand was burning hot from the alcohol. I tried to pull back, but his grip tightens, cold and unyielding. The heavy door slowly swung shut behind us as we walked out. Behind me, someone was already dialing Serena's number. "Man, I told you Beck's been thinking about Serena all these years. One whisper of her coming back and he loses his mind. I gotta call her..." The door clicked shut, sealing the sound inside. The soundproof walls of the club swallowed the whispers, but the words lingered in the chilly night air. Even drunk, Beckett walked with a rigid, military straightness, his eyes half-closed. With his heavy arm slung over my shoulder, I pulled out my phone with my free hand, desperately typing the reply to that mysterious text. "So what are you saying? Beckett and I don't have a future? What happens if I stay?" Beckett's driver was waiting at the curb. I only had time to hit send before getting into the car. In the backseat, Beckett finally closed his eyes and leaned against the headrest. Suddenly, both phones in my purse vibrated. One was my personal phone. [Don't stay with him, Keira. If you're still with him when Serena gets back, you will lose everything. Trust me, you don't want to live through the things I've lived through.] The other phone was Beckett's—the one Brody had slipped into my bag earlier. The notification banner displayed a message from a contact saved simply with a star emoji: [I'm back.] The winter in New York was brutal. Even with the heater blasting, the chill in my heart wouldn't lift. The neon lights of Times Square blurred past, casting sharp shadows over Beckett's high, aristocratic nose. I watched him for a long time. Then, slowly, I slipped my hand out of his grip. Serena was back. Beckett had finally got what he was waiting for. So I wouldn't make him wait any longer. The next morning, Beckett was already gone. The faint scent of his signature woody cologne, mixed with Creed Aventus, lingered in the air. On the marble vanity, the bottle of Creed Aventus had been moved to the very front. The bottle Serena had bought him. Four years ago, right before she moved to London, she had asked me—her quiet high school deskmate—to hand it to him. "Please, Keira. Beckett's furious that I'm leaving without telling him. Just give this to him for me, okay?" I remembered looking at her bright, dazzling smile, my fingers clenching the gift bag. I took it anyway. When I handed it to Beckett, he hadn't said a word. The bottle remained unopened for years, tucked away at the very back of our bathroom cabinet after we married. I always thought he had simply forgotten to throw it out. But now, it was sitting right there, in the most prominent spot on the counter. A bitter smile formed on my face in the mirror, looking tired and hollow. During our first year of marriage, I had used my first major project bonus to buy him a bottle of the exact same cologne. I loved the crisp scent of blackcurrant, birch, and ambergris. When I had playfully waved the scent toward him while he was adjusting his cuffs, he had quietly stepped back. "You like it?" he had asked, his voice neutral. I had nodded, but his subtle retreat froze my heart. It wasn't that he disliked the cologne. He just disliked it coming from me. I walked down to the dining room. Breakfast was already set by our housekeeper, Martha. "Mrs. Cross, Mr. Cross said he had an early board meeting. He asked me to prepare your favorites." On the wall-mounted TV, a financial segment was broadcasting Beckett attending a major strategic merger announcement. Under the flashing cameras, he looked sharp, cold, and effortlessly handsome. I wanted to kill the last lingering hope in my chest. So I pulled out my phone and texted the future me. "Beckett has actually been... good to me these past two years. Why did things turn out so badly for you?" The other side went silent for a long time. So long that I assumed she wouldn't reply. Just as I finished my breakfast, the red notification bubble popped up. [We did have good times, Keira. Honestly. But once Serena returns, everything changes. You and I both know how much she matters to him, don't we?] The food suddenly tasted like ashes. Yes. I’ve always known how Serena was the exception to every one of his rules. In our elite prep school in Manhattan, no one cared about a scholarship girl who had just moved from a small town in Connecticut with her single mother. The quiet girl from a working-class background was an easy target. My papers were torn, my notes went missing, and once, someone even stuffed a live frog into my locker. Before a midterm exam, a boy from the varsity team walked over to my desk, smirking and waving a water gun. "Well, look at the top student in our grade. You’re gonna help me pass today, right?" When I didn't answer, he squirted water at my face. "I'm talking to you, nerd." With my shirt soaked and my head down, I sat in agonizing silence, waiting for the bell. Just as he was about to push further, a lazy, commanding voice drifted from the back row. "That's enough. The exam's starting." The boy immediately backed off, muttering an apology as he shuffled away. I whispered a thank-you, but the boy behind me didn't reply. The bell rang, and his casual words settled deep into my chest. "If you keep staying quiet, they'll only push harder. If you're angry, say it." During that exam, my mind drifted for the first time. Afterward, I grabbed my pens and ran out to thank him properly. But when I caught up, I saw his tall, relaxed frame walking toward a gorgeous, vibrant girl. "Beckett, hurry up! The place is going to be packed!" "I already booked us a private table, princess," he replied, his voice incredibly gentle as he took her designer bag and guided her around the corner. I stared at the soft, fond smile on his face and quietly stopped walking. Maybe I should have stopped walking two years ago, too. I rubbed my temples and put down my fork. The rest of my breakfast had gone cold. My phone buzzed. The contact name read: "Husband". [Taking you to see an old friend tonight.] I stared at it, then replied: [Okay.] Serena was more stunning and elegant than she was four years ago. Sitting among a table of wealthy heirs who had all found success, she was still the undisputed center of attention. The moment she saw me, she waved enthusiastically. The private dining room went quiet for a brief second. "Over here, Keira! You're the last to arrive! But then again, Manhattan traffic is always a nightmare." Beckett was already there, leaning close to her, whispering something with a soft smile. I swallowed hard. On the table sat a glass of warm almond milk—my favorite. But my seat was set far apart from theirs. They sat incredibly close, almost brushing shoulders. And I was left to sit in my isolated spot, like an uninvited guest arriving late. I sat down quietly. Beckett, barely looking up, slid the glass of almond milk toward me. Serena's eyes lingered on the gesture for a split second before she looked away. "Man, I knew you'd end up marrying our quiet New England beauty," one of the guys laughed. Another nudged him, whispering, "Well, if Serena hadn't rushed off to London right after graduation, things might have been different. You shouldn't have waited so long to come back, Sere." Beckett said nothing. Serena overheard and retorted playfully, "Oh, please! Everyone knows Beckett never listened to anyone back then. But the moment Keira told him to stop fighting, he actually put his fists down." A trace of helplessness crossed Beckett's face. He called the waiter to order some herbal tea, then gently stabilized Serena as she leaned toward me. His voice was incredibly soft, dripping with a tenderness I rarely heard. "Alright, I told you not to drink so fast. Look at you now." "You're not the boss of me, Beckett!" Serena mumbled, but she obediently sank back into her seat. "Keira, don't listen to him. I barely had anything. It's just... I'm so happy to see everyone again." The guy who had suggested calling her earlier chimed in, "We're happy too! Even Beck, who hates reunions, showed up. That's some serious VIP treatment, Serena." The smile on my lips turned bitter. During our senior year, the teacher paired us up for a peer-tutoring program. I became Beckett’s partner. Looking at his usually detached face, I had offered a nervous, polite smile. "Hi, Beckett. Looking forward to working with you." Serena, sitting in front of us, had spun around. "Beckett, couldn't you have scored a little lower? I would have gladly tutored you!" Then, as if noticing me for the first time, she gave a dazzling smile. "Keira, you've always got the best grades. Let's all help each other!" Aside from occasional awkwardness from Serena's intense energy, that year went smoother than I ever expected. No one messed with my locker, and the bullying stopped completely. But in the spring semester, I was cornered in an alley by a couple of local thugs while buying school supplies. Beckett happened to walk past the alley entrance and turned back. He pinned the ringleader to the brick wall, his fists landing with sickening thuds. His friends rushed in, screaming at him to stop, but his eyes were wild with rage. He wouldn't let go. Shaking with fear, I ran over and grabbed his sleeve. "Beckett, stop... please. You're going to kill him." He finally froze. He stared blankly at the blood on his knuckles, stood up, and let his friends guide him away. As I lingered at the edge of the alley, Serena stepped in front of me, her expression icy. "Keira, did you forget what you promised me?" Now, Serena looked up at me from Beckett's shoulder, her eyes hazy with alcohol. I looked away. How could I forget? The day after the fight, Beckett didn't show up to school; his family was sorting out the legal mess. Serena had cornered me in the hallway, asking if I liked him. "You probably don't know this, Keira, but Beckett and I have been set up by our families since we were kids. He was just being chivalrous. I don't want you getting any ideas." Looking at her fierce, possessive gaze, and remembering how Beckett always yielded to her, I had lowered my eyes. "Of course not. I'm going back to Connecticut after graduation anyway. We won't cross paths." But I didn't go back. And she didn't end up with him either. Now, Serena's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "You promised you wouldn't fall for him, Keira... but I go away for a few years, and I come back to find you two have been married for two years..." The room temperature plummeted. I could feel the quiet judgment and mocking stares of the people around the table. Someone whispered, "So she swooped in when Serena left? How desperate." Beckett looked at me, his lips parting as if to say something, but instead, he adjusted his grip to support Serena's weight. In the end, he didn't say a word to defend me. The party dragged on until late. Everyone tacitly left the task of taking the drunk Serena home to Beckett. No one asked about me. I had been a ghost all night—arriving in silence, leaving in silence. Outside the elevator, I met Beckett's gaze. He said quietly, "Keira, Serena is really out of it. I need to take her home first." I nodded and stepped toward the curb to hail a cab. "You..." Beckett frowned. "I'll have my driver take her to the estate first, then you and I can..." An Uber pulled up immediately. I opened the door. "No need. Go take care of Serena. I'll get home myself." Beckett opened his mouth to speak, but Serena slipped slightly in his arms. By the time he secured her in the backseat of his Maybach, my cab was already merging into traffic. I watched the luxury car shrink in the rearview mirror until it disappeared completely. "Miss," the driver said, looking at me through the mirror, "that gated community in Greenwich has strict security. My cab won't be allowed past the gates." "That's fine. Just drop me off across the street. I'll walk." It took me two years to realize. I managed to walk from my small-town life into his home, but I never managed to walk into his heart. But that's okay. It's only been two years. I still have time to walk away. When I got home, I began to pack. I left everything in the walk-in closet untouched. I didn't touch any of the designer jewelry or bags he bought me. I only packed the hand-stitched patchwork quilt my mother had made for me. The wedding quilt she spent months sewing, stitch by stitch. I remembered her words: "My sweet girl is starting her own family now. I won't follow you to New York to be a burden. Just take care of yourself, okay? If you're happy, my heart is at peace." But I had never used that quilt. It had been tucked away at the very bottom of the linen closet, looking as pristine as the day she finished it. My throat tightened. I hugged the heavy quilt tightly to my chest, letting myself sink into the bed, feeling for a fleeting second like I was back in my mother's arms. The next morning, Beckett still wasn't back. There was a text from him from last night: [Serena is too drunk, and I didn't want to alarm her parents, so I'm staying over to look after her. Don't wait up. Go to sleep.] Twenty-eight words. I stared at them for half an hour. Even though I had prepared myself, my chest still ached with a sharp, stabbing pain. I left the text unanswered. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. An Instagram notification popped up. It was an update from Serena. [Four years later, and some things never change. Still the one quietly watching over me.] In the photo, Beckett was asleep, his head resting at the edge of her mattress. The comment section was already buzzing. "Are they finally back together?" "My favorite couple is back!" "I knew you two still had feelings. True love always finds a way!" It had only been three minutes since she posted it, and the likes from mutual acquaintances had already filled a page. These were the people Beckett had introduced me to when we got married. He had told me, "My friends are your friends. If I'm not around and you need anything, just call them." What he didn't know was that almost immediately after adding me, they had muted my accounts. Our message threads were always a graveyard of silence. They only acknowledged the golden couple approved by their parents. They only acknowledged Serena. I knew. I always knew. Before leaving, I gave Martha a few quick instructions. She looks hesitant. "Mr. Cross should be home soon. Perhaps you could wait..." I shook my head. "No need." I locked my phone screen, turned around, and walked out the door.
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